Isolda
by Roofran411
Summary: The is the story of Isolda , lover of Tristan and wife to Marke, King of Cornwall


Sometime ago my friend and writer Numbatstuff wrote three stories about what she thought happened after the end of the film, _Tristan + Isolde_.

After I read _'The Road to Kernow'_, by my newly made friend Empress of Cornwall,also a FFwriter, and, on her recommendation Diana L. Paxson's '_The White Raven'_, I was tempted to try my hand at the story of Tristan + Isolde.

This is the result. It is quite long, so I hope you will bear with it.

As usual. I have stolen what I wanted from the legends, the film, and other stories and have twisted them to fit how I thought the story should go.

In the film, Tristan was played by James Franco (no comment whatsoever!), Isolde by Sophia Myles and Marke by Rufus Sewell.

In the film, Marke lost his hand. I found no foundation for this in any legend or story so this is something I did not find necessary to keep.

And

How Isolde could choose Tristan over Marke beats me ...so this is my version

Note

Many centuries ago the Celtic tongue divided into two: - one became Irish and Scottish Gaelic. The other became Welsh, Cornish and Breton which even today have much in common.

My thanks to Diana Paxson for this detail and any other that I may have picked up from her book

In this story I have used a few Welsh words hoping this will give a feeling of the ancient Celtic tongue that I think Marke would have used as his first language as well as the tongue of the Britons.

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Glossary

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Fach =little one. = (pronounced vark)

Cariad =darling, sweetheart = (carry ad)

Annwyl =Beloved =(ann oo wil)

Fy'ng hariad =my darling, = (vern harry ad)

Duw= God =( jew)

Cymru was and still is the Welsh name for Wales (Cum ree)

Cymraeg= Welsh = a Welsh person. Also Welsh language (cum rye g)

Ynys Mon is still the Welsh name for Anglesey (Un iss Morn)

Breizh is Breton for Brittany.

_This is only a rough guide as the Welsh tongue contains sounds, sibilants and mutations not known to the English tongue._

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Though Marke and Tristan were Cornish and Isolda was Irish, the song I have chosen to go with this, is a traditional Welsh melody played on the harp. I think the sweetness of the harp, the sad beauty of the melody, and the Celtic origin of both fit this story exactly.

_Bugeilio'r Gwenith Gwyn_ ( Bee guile ee oar gwen nith gwin -Watching the white wheat grow.)

watch?v=uaU8RM61pWA

This is a passionate love story and for that reason i have given it an **M** rating.

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ISOLDA

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When the cold wet nights are on us, and the bards and minstrels sit at our fires, do they still sing the songs of bold knights and their brave deeds, of their fair ladies and of great loves?

Of great and good Kings, their Knights Champion and their beautiful Queens.

Of Arthur, of Lancelot, and Guinevere.

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Of Marke the King, of Tristan his Champion, and Iseult the Queen.

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Of Marke the Good, of Tristan who betrayed him, of Iseult the faithless.

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But bards and minstrels tell their stories to hold their listeners and do not always tell the truth; they do not always know the truth.

This is the story of Marke and Tristan and the woman they both loved.

For it is the Story of Iseult the Queen.

And it is I, Iseult the Queen who tells it.

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Prologue.

I paused by the lavender bushes, the day was warm and drowsy with the hum of the bees. I snapped off a blossom, rolled it in my fingers and sniffed it. The scent was heavenly but the memories it evoked were painful. I heard footsteps on the creamy gravel path between the beds.

The youngest novice, Sister Agnes was almost running towards me. Sister Mary, Mother of Novices would not be well pleased with that.

"My Lady." she was panting. "My Lady, Mother Abbess wishes to see you. In the Guest House."

I smiled at her gently.

"You must catch your breath, Sister Agnes, before Mother of Novices sees you, or you risk another reprimand."

I followed her into the Abbey, along the cloister, and into the passage that connected the convent to the Guest House.

Mother Abbess was waiting in the ante chamber to the Guest's parlour.

"My Lady," she said, and signs of anxiety showed in the way she touched her mouth with her hand. "My Lady, perhaps you may wish to change your gown. Perhaps, to dress your hair and replace your wimple with a veil and your coronet."

I looked down at the offending garments; a cream linen gown belted with a plaited leather girdle, a cream tabard, brown sandals and the aforesaid offending wimple.

I have been a guest in this Convent now for more than a year. I have not taken vows. How can I, even should I wish? But my garments are similar to those worn by the nuns except that mine are fine and soft to the touch and theirs are coarse and rough.

I smiled at her. "I see no reason, Mother."

"You have a visitor, my Lady." Her breath was fast. Why should she be so apprehensive?

"The King is here."

I clutched the neck of my tunic; a shudder of fear went through me.

My father here?

Diarmud, High King of Ireland, here? Then I realised my foolishness. No, it could not be he.

"Arthur? Arthur of the Britons? To see me?"

A brief memory slip, for Arthur is dead now these last months, old and weary. With many of the knights of his Table Round dispersed and gone, he had been hard pressed on his eastern marches by the barbarian hordes; he had lost his last battle and with it his life.

Camelot has still has many visitors and the Abbey in Glastonbury, within easy reach of it, often receives them also

Courtesy calls, nothing more.

But not to me. They do not come to me. Nor do I have wish to see them.

But who could it be?

"My Lady... Oh my Lady, the King of Cornwall!"

It took me a moment to understand. She called it in the way of the Britons, not the way of the Celts. Not the way we call it.

The way _he_ calls it.

Kernow.

The King is here?

Marke.

My husband.

The room swam around me.

Then I took a deep breath, lifted the latch and went in to him.

Mother Abbess stood in the doorway behind me.

"My Lady? Do you wish me to stay?"

Bravely said, for I could see she was sore afraid.

I have no fear of the King.

I have never feared him except for a few short days, when I rightly feared his wrath and his justice.

But those days are gone.

"Thank you, Mother, but no."

She closed the door gently.

He stood in the window embrasure; the bright sunlight catching his hair, I saw a silver strand here and there.

I saw lines now, on his face where there had been none before, and the sadness in his shadowed eyes. His beautiful eyes.

Marke, what have I done to you?

"I have come to tell you." He stopped. "I know not why." He hesitated and started again.

"I have come because ...because you must know. Should you be waiting... It should be I who tells you."

He stopped again, biting his lip the way he always did.

"I have not come to hurt or gloat. Tristan..." he paused again. "Tristan. He is married. A lady of Breizh. He is there. Iseult. Her name too is Iseult, Iseult of the White Hands."

He stopped and waited.

I watched him, wondering. Does he think I care?

I moistened my lips.

"My Lord. I wish him well. I shall always wish him well but his marriage is a matter of indifference to me."

My voice trailed away.

I sat down in one of the carved armchairs with its bright woollen cushions. A little splash of colour in the white of the convent.

"Are you alright? Would you like a drink? Water?" He did not move. "Shall I call Mother Abbess?"

"No, No. "

"You look shaken."

If I did, it was not the news of Tristan. It was the sight of him standing here in my sanctuary.

"No"

He waited, and the silence stretched.

"Is there anything you wish to ask?"

He had asked me that before. Long ago.

Yes. How are our people? And Castle D'Or? How goes the work repairing Castle D'Or, our home which my father almost destroyed? How do the crops this year? Our animals? Blanche, my pony? Mab, my little greyhound that you gave me? How thrive my lavender bushes?

How is our Kernow?

And...

How are you, my love?

These are what I wanted to ask but I could not. I no longer have the right.

"No, nothing."

"Then I will trespass on the Abbey's hospitality no longer."

He went to the door. Without turning, he said, "You are thin." I said nothing. He opened the door. "Fare thee well."

He was gone.

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Chapter 1 Drustan

In a while, I went out again into the herb garden and sat on the bench under the apple tree and watched the gentle movement of the lavender bushes; watched them sway into blue and violet seas and the light gravel path become the yellow sands of Bantry Bay.

How often had I sat on the low cliffs above them. My escape from my father, a hard cold man. I am his only legitimate child by Mairenn, his Queen, though he had bastards by the dozen, not that he treated them better. I was valuable to him only as a bargaining tool. To be given to the one offering the best terms.

I, Essyllte, daughter of Diarmud, the High King of Ireland. Iseult, that is, in the way of the Britons.

My mother had died giving birth to me and I was handed over to a newly delivered mother to be nursed and reared with her child. Branwen, my foster sister, my maid, my friend.

I did not grow tall; hourglass is how Branwen describes me. Womanly is another so called compliment. She is taller than I am. She is thin, brown with dark hair and eyes, whereas my skin 'is white like the winter snows, my hair is the yellow of the King's gold and my eyes are blue like the sapphire set in the King's crown.' someone said a long time ago; so long ago.

I have firm high breasts. a narrow waist curving out into full hips, but still plump from growing from a child into a woman. Branwen will never be plump.

I would willingly exchange with her.

I have been educated in all that is seemly for a king's daughter. I can read and write. And count. I was taught to play the harp, to sing, to dance, to control a great household, to care for its sick and injured. I was taught all these, yet my father was, _is_ a brutal hard man, fiercely ambitious to extend his lands and sway, surrounded by brutal men willing to help him. He has only contempt for women and that included me

He ignored me until my flow started and I became a woman.

The knights of my father's court eyed me slyly and some were bold enough to remark lewdly about me. Connor, the King's Champion, made no secret of his lust, even before my father.

That was the year I was fifteen; the year before, my father had started again his raids on Kernow.

Kernow, the kingdom across the seas from our land. A long narrow peninsula, wild and rocky, it is rich with much our land has not; lead, silver, gold and even more needful to us, tin, to strengthen our copper.

My father's kingdom has gold aplenty but has it from its raids on the kingdoms of Britain, Cymru, Kernow and Camelot: my father's lords preferring to raid and rob our neighbours than to buy from them.

Our marauding bands had raided them each summer, burning the wooden forts until their lesser lords joined together and chose one to be king. The young lord of Castle D'Or. His first decision was to rebuild but not in wood. In stone, in the manner of the Franks.

Each summer, Connor grew more and more bold.

The summer of which I tell, after the last raid, he brought his spoils to my father and threw them before him and huddled with him, murmuring and bargaining, my father laughing mockingly.

In the weeks that followed, Connor grew more forward, my father watching through narrowed eyes, yet with a small smile on his face.

Then the warning horn had sounded and the knights had seized their weapons and had rode out. They were back much later. A spying party, they said, not raiders. From Kernow. One captive, three dead. They had thought there were five in the band, at first, but they did not find another and their captive said four only, in spite of whatever they did to make him say otherwise.

Connor preened himself to my father making demands. From the back of the hall, I saw my father laugh and nod in agreement. Connor tipped a horn of beer down his throat, then another and seeing me pushed his way down to me. He grabbed my forearms and dragged me up to him. His body smelt foul and his breath worse. I turned my head in disgust.

"You will not be so proud Princess, when you are in my bed."

I struggled to pull away. "That will be never."

"No? Your father will give you to me. In thanks. Am I not his Champion?"

"I do not believe you." I tore away from him.

"Ask him."

I picked up my skirts and began to run up the hall to the throne.

"Ask him." he shouted.

"Father, it is not true. Connor. You will not give me to him? "

He looked at me indifferently.

"He has done well and he wants a woman to keep his bed warm. Perhaps. "

I backed away

"No. I will not marry him."

He reached out and slapped me so that I fell down the throne steps. I pulled myself up, stood and stared at him. He said nothing but the anger in his eyes caused me to turn and flee out of the hall, out to the stables to get my pony. I knew I would pay for my moment of defiance and that I was only delaying it.

"Essyllte!" It was Branwen. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Anywhere."

"Wait! Wait for me"

But I went on and rode till I was on the cliffs above Bantry Bay,

I do not know how long I sat there but I became aware of something drifting in. A boat, maybe.

The incoming waves lifting it and throwing it in closer, again and again.

I nudged my pony till he began to pick his way down the cliff path and made his way to the jetsam on the beach. It was a boat. There did not appear to be much wrong with it, the sail lay crumpled in the bottom. It would beach itself. I was about to turn away when the sail moved. There was someone half covered by it. I swung my leg over my pony and jumped down. Reaching in me dragged the canvas aside.

"What is it?"

Branwen had caught up with me.

"Someone, a fisherman? I think he is hurt. He is not conscious."

She dismounted to join me and together we looked at the man in the boat.

"We must get him out and to some shelter."

It is not the way of our people to leave an injured man to his fate.

We struggled to get him out of the boat.

"There."

Branwen pointed. On the far side of the bay was a deserted fisherman's hut.

Another struggle to get him on my pony, and at last we had him inside.

His face was burnt by the sun and his hair and clothes were thick with sand, salt and blood.

We knew what to do. When our men returned injured from raids or the hunt, our women cared for them, even the King's daughter.

Branwen pulled the small knife that every Irish girl carries tucked into her belt at her back and started to cut his coarse fisherman's tunic as I searched for the flint and tinder that was always left in these huts.

"Essy," I turned at the strangeness in her voice."Essy, look."

"What is it?"

"Look!" her voice was urgent; she showed me the tunic where she had started to cut it. At first, I did not know what I was looking at. Wool. Not the coarse knitted wool of fishermen! Fine spun, woven wool of the British isle. Not Irish. British or Kernowish

We looked at each other.

"It would be a great shame to cut this beautiful wool. It will wash."

"It would that. I will get a fire going, and give you a hand."

Again we looked each other. We knew; the spy party, but there was no question of what we would do.

"I will not give him to Connor."

Branwen nodded slowly. Her hatred of Connor was even greater than mine. He was her father, got on Elin, a Cymraeg lady brought back as captive, used and tossed aside. This highborn lady had worked in the fields then the kitchens, till her knowledge of healing became known then she was put to work in the still room.

Branwen's mother and my foster mother, the only mother I knew.

"We must hide the boat."

She slipped out; she is better with boats than I who am sick each time I set foot on board.

I got fresh water from the stream that fell down the cliff to the sea and put it to warm, and then began to ease the tunic off. Underneath, he wore a fine silk shirt. Whoever he was, he was of high birth.

His shirt was dark with his blood and his hair too was clotted with it. I dabbed at the silk till it loosed from the wound. It was a deep slash at the top of his thigh where the downward stroke of a sword catches if it is not held safe by a shield. It pouted open and its edges were angry red. One of us would have to go back to Tara to our mammy.

While I waited for Branwen, I washed the sand and blood from his face and hair He was young, not much older than we were. There was only golden down above his full red mouth. I caught my breath at the beauty of his face, narrow and thin, a small snub nose and black straight brows. His hair as it dried was honey brown with gold streaks around his face where the sun had lightened it.

Oh no, not Irish!

I could feel the heat of him rising and he began to move restlessly, murmuring a word here and there. I heard Branwen behind me.

"We need Mammy's help." I said.

"You go, you ride better than I."

I found her in the still room, she watched me as I asked for candles, poultice, ointments and linen strips. "Mammy, and a feverfew potion to lower fever."

She had asked no questions but at this, she paused her busy hands.

"Child, I do not wish to know what you and Branwen are doing but..."

I crammed the things into a straw bag along with a blanket I had acquired when no-one was watching and hurried to the door.

"If you want to know Mammy, you will look into the bowl." I smiled cheekily.

"Take care, my little one."

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_It is believe_d _by most of our people that our mammy is a witch. I had asked Branwen if she thought it was so; she had said_ no_ but I had thought perhaps, yes. So I had asked her. She had smiled, "No, I serve the Christos."_

_"But you know the ways of the Lady."_

" _On Ynys Mon, my home, our people may serve the Christos and the Lady. Here, the priests do not allow it."_

_"Will you teach me?" I had asked. _

"_You were dedicated to the Christos at your birth." _

_"I feel - sometimes I feel something, someone calling."_

_She had been still. _

"_I knew it had passed over Branwen, it does sometimes. I have thought sometimes that you may have the Sight. When you are a woman perhaps."_

_"I am. You know I am; my flows have come since I was twelve."_

_"A woman who has known a man."_

_"Will you teach me to read the fire and the water?"_

_"Perhaps"_

When I got back to Branwen, the boy's fever was high; streaks of red spreading out from the wound. We poulticed it, dressed it and spooned Mammy's potion between his lips.

"One of us will have to stay this night." she said, we agreed to take turns to be with him. I would have to be back in the hall for dinner, I would be missed from the High King's table. I would return afterwards to relieve her.

I changed into one of her working dresses and when the hall quietened to sleep, I slipped through it to the kitchen door.

"Essyllte"

Mammy's soft voice stopped me and I followed her into the still room.

"Where are you going?"

"A breath of air, Mammy."

"You lie. And where is Branwen?"

"She will be back, Mammy, as soon as I get there."

"You will stay the night?"

"One of us must, Mammy."

I made to go.

"Essyllte." I paused again.

"Essyllte, you are young, still a girl. Yet already you have that about you which some women have. The power to draw men to you, to make them want you; but maybe you already know this."

"I have done nothing Mammy. I do nothing." I interrupted hotly.

"I know that, my child; for that is what you are, a child; yet it is strong in you. But this does not come alone, with the power to make men want you, comes the same need in you to have a man."

My face flamed.

"I would not, Mammy. I would not."

"No, Essyllte, and you must not. You are the King's daughter and must go virgin to your marriage bed. Not to do so can mean death. It is the law." She touched my face. "But sometimes the need may be so strong, you may not be able to stop yourself and that is why I am warning you, fach. Be aware of this. Take care."

I flung out and went to Branwen and the boy.

I watched him through the night and Branwen and I fought for him through the next day till the following night when the fever broke and the shivering cold sweats took him. I bit my lip as I watched him and I knew what I had to do to keep him warm. I took off his shirt before it soaked, then taking off my tunic, I lay naked beside him and took him in my arms, rubbing him and pressing him to me to warm him.

He slept and in the candlelight, I looked at him, brushed his hair from his face, touched his arms, his shoulder, and I too slept. When I awoke, it was to find a pair of dark eyes watching me, the fever brightness gone from them.

"Am I dead? Are you an angel? No. No angel looks like you."

His eyes went down over me and with a gasp I reached for my shift and pulled it over me, wriggling it down before I stood.

He was wan and weak but he had his senses. It was early days, but I thought perhaps we had saved him.

"Where am I?"

"Bantry Bay"

"Ban ...Ah" his voice trailed away.

"I found you in a boat, you were sick so we brought you here." I could see him trying to think in his weakness. "What is your name?"

"Tr...Uh uh"

"Do you not remember it?"

"Uh, Drustan."

I turned and got a mug of water and put it to his lips.

"You must rest. My sister will be here soon and we will have to dress your wounds again."

It would give him time to work out his story. I smiled to myself as I bent to blow the embers into flames

"What is your name, fair angel?"

"Branwen,"

Two can play your game _'Tr...Drustan'_. No Kernow man was ever called by such an Irish name

When he woke again, we both had our stories ready.

He was a fisherman. He had hit his head on the boom. Uh huh, and his thigh wound? Oh, when he fell, his knife must have cut him... Uh huh.

I am Branwen and my sister and I help our Mammy in the stillroom up at the castle. What castle is that? Why Tara, of course, the High King's castle. That shook you, did it not, my fine young fisherman?

Branwen arrived and we cleaned his wounds through bit lips and stifled groans.

My brave young fisherman.

We changed his poultice and his dressing and I slipped away but not before Branwen had given me one of her looks.

We took turn and turn about caring for him. If my turns with him were longer than Branwen's, we did not say. I took a scroll there and read to him and if he thought it strange that a still room maid could read, he did not say.

He grew stronger and Branwen's looks grew blacker but I did not care.

I loved him.

It was ten days after we found him when with my help, he took a few steps, then more each day till we went as far as the water's edge. The rain came down as we went back and we stumbled in, and laughing, fell onto his heather bed. Suddenly we were looking at each other and I asked if I should read to him. I reached for the scroll and read to him, his head on my shoulder. I felt his hand undo the laces of my bodice and it was cool against the warmth of my breast. He was squeezing it and rubbing and my breath was fast. I felt my nipple harden; he was breathless too, I dropped the scroll and held his wrist but he did not stop and I did not want him to.

"I've wanted to do this since I woke and found you naked beside me." he took my hand and put it in his braccae.

"Touch me." I jerked my hand away.

"No" I whispered. "

"Why? You have been touching and washing me three times each day for ten days and more. Please, please?" He was kissing me and stroking my breast. I let my hand rest on him and felt him harden. The room was swimming around me and I felt limp with wanting. I wanted.

I pushed him away. "I must go. Bruh... my sister is not coming today. It is not necessary now. It will not be long before you will be able to go home. When you are strong enough, my sister will bring your boat or take you to it."

"You have my boat?"  
"We hid it. I am going now."

Will you come tonight?"  
"If I can."

I did not go till after breakfast, the next day.

I ran along the beach clutching bread and boiled eggs for him and burst through the door.

He was not there. I dropped the victuals.

Where was he?

Then two arms came from behind me, grasping my breasts, kneading then, rubbing up and down me. Pushing, guiding me to his bed, he pulled my tunic off and I was naked to his gaze.

Hastily he stripped, he was already hard.

"Look at it, Branwen." He took my nipples and pulled until I moaned. We stroked, squeezed and rubbed and he was groaning. He lay on me holding my hands above my head. I loved his weight on me.

"I want to do it to you. Oh God, I need to do it."

There was a fire burning in my groin.

"Will you? Oh let me, let me. I love you so, Branwen I will die if I don't have you."

I gasped with the throb and nodded slowly.

"Have you ever done it?" I shook my head.

"You?" I whispered.

"No, but I know how."

He explored me and he pushed and I cried out as he ripped me and pushed again, another tear, another cry, and he was in me, pumping, holding my hips. I could hear a mewling and a little voice saying over again "Oh yes oh yes oh yes." My voice.

It was fast and I wanted more and so did he.

We loved with the wildness of the young, till he was spent and I lay, holding him.

We had four more days of joy and laughter, of greed for each other.

I went back to the hall for dinner. Half the knights were missing.

And the hubbub!

"What's to do?" I murmured to Branwen.

"They are looking for him. Cook reported the food missing. We have to get him away. I'll go to the creek and ready the boat. You get him."

The moonlight was clear on the water as we pushed the boat till it floated.

"I love you."

"I love you"

We kissed over and over. I held him tight. I couldn't bear to let him go.

"I'll be back."

We made our way to our ponies; I thought Branwen did not see me cry, until she said flatly "He's had you." I did not answer.

"Well, we had better tell Mammy."

Mammy too knew as soon as she saw me. She said nothing but gave me a potion and more to take in the next days.

"He will come back for me, Mammy."

"Yes." but she did not believe it.

Days, weeks passed, turning into months.

"Mammy, will you teach me to scry now?"

She sighed. She burned some herbs in a little pot, then put a bowl of water on the table before me and sat on the bench behind me, her arms around me.

"Let your mind go, look into the water. Let me guide you."

At first there was nothing, then I began to see; not often at first, but soon I was seeing every time. A boy, my heart leaped, but it was not Drustan, I did not know him.

Mammy said that the water does not always tell you what you ask.

A boy with black curls. I could not see his face but as I scried more, I grew to recognise him. It was always he.

With his bride; with his child; a man now, pulling a fair haired boy out of a cellar amidst fire; blood, death. Death around. His bride and child, dead. More fire, blood and death. Then a great arched stone doorway with light and mist flooding from it, a figure walking through it till I could see it was he; never his face but I always knew it was he.

And this I saw, time and again.

Him, through mists and smoke lit by flickering flames

.

More months passed. I never lost faith. Drustan would come for me.

My father had three offers of marriage for me.

He refused them, Connor was jubilant and crowed about it. Then a ship sailed into the bay. Its painted sails bore the rearing horse badge of Kernow. And the white flag of truce.

The Herald of the King of Kernow came ashore with a small retinue.

He stood before my father and his court.

"The King of Kernow sends greetings to the High King of Erin

He seeks peace and in token of this he sends gifts. In further token, he requests the hand of the princess Iseult in marriage."

I gasped as noise broke out in the court; loudest of all was the roar that came from Connor.

"She is mine. You promised."

The King stroked his beard but he was smiling behind his hand. He held it up for silence.

The Herald bowed.

"My Lord King. If this had been known, my Lord would have not made his request. Grant me permission to withdraw it."

He bowed again and made to withdraw but this was affectation. My father would not let it go. Nor would Kernow's Herald.

"My lord Herald, wait! It is true that Sir Connor has made a request for the hand of the Princess but I have not as yet made answer."

An oath came from Connor. But he was still at a glance from my father.

"Sir Connor may hold fast to his request and the King of Kernow may challenge his prior claim. He is not here to challenge himself but perhaps one of your retinue may wish to stand for the King."

I understood. To refuse the King would be a great insult: to refuse Connor would insult him and the King would lose his Champion. This manner, Connor could defeat Kernow's knight and insult its king without retaliation.

"Sir Connor is Erin's Champion, is he not?"

"Indeed."

The Herald paused as if in thought. "And Sir Connor is willing to accept this challenge?"

At Connor's nod he went on.

"In our retinue is Sir Tristan; he is the King's nephew and Kernow's Champion. He would be willing to pick up Sir Connor's challenge. The choice of weapons is yours, Sir Connor."

So Mark of Kernow has foreseen this happening. Clever man.

Connor chose to joust.

Branwen and I sat in with the ladies' enclosure as the two Champions rode out to salute the King. My heart stopped, it was Drustan; Drustan had come for me. Drustan was Tristan. His eyes swept gaily along the ladies, passed me, then came back. He smiled in surprised delight and winked at me. And I had no other thought but that he had come for me.

In the last of the three runs he unhorsed Connor. Joy swept through me. I stood, pushed my way to the steps to go to him. My father grasped my wrist with an iron grip

Drustan rode to the foot of the steps

"I claim the hand of the princess Iseult."

My father rose and taking me with him descended the steps.

"I give the hand of my daughter Iseult to Mark, King of Kernow."

Drustan had won, had won me. I saw Drustan's face, puzzled, then stunned, he mouthed my name. Then my sister's name. The name that I had told him was mine.

Branwen.

I had little chance to speak to him in the next days. I did not understand. I expected Drustan to claim me. He had won me. Why did he not tell my father?

My gowns were packed, my cloaks, my tunics, the chests of linens were all made ready and loaded on the Kernow ship, when at last I spoke to him.

"Drustan? I thought you had come for me."

He looked coldly over my head.

"I come for you? The princess of Erin?"

"But"

"You are the bride of my uncle the King. I am to escort you to Kernow.

"But he is old; he is your uncle."

"Princesses marry old men, if they are kings."

He pushed past me.

I caught his arm, "Drustan, we love each other. We could go, run away together."

Again his voice was cold.

"I am a knight of Kernow. I have sworn fealty to my king.

"But"

"Have ye never heard of honour?"

The contempt in his voice stung.

I said my formal farewells: I saw something I know not what in my father's eyes, something akin to triumph, and hate and desire for revenge in Connor's.

I made to climb the gang plank; my mammy came to me. She gave me two flasks.

"Take these each day for the sea sickness. It will help."

"Give me something to make Drustan love me again."

My face was red and sore with weeping.

She shook her head sadly.

"Child," she put her arm around me and she slipped something into my hand.

"On your wedding night, put this in your drink and the King's." she whispered. "It will make you love each other."

She kissed me, then Branwen, and we boarded the ship.

Four days at sea.

We could see the outline of Kernow on the horizon. Drustan was standing in the prow of the ship, his great cloak wrapped around him. I stood beside him "Drustan."

"Sir Tristan!" he corrected.

"Do you not love me? Do you not want me anymore?"

He looked down at me.

"Two days, we will be in Kernow. Two days to love each other."

With an oath, he swung his cloak around us and dragged my gown up. He took me. It was not gentle; it was not loving; he pumped me until he spent himself in me. The wind took his moans and gasps.

"Come to me tonight. I love you. I know you love me."

Another oath.

"I am the King's champion and you are the King's bride." and he pushed away and left me.

I took the little vial from my pocket and threw it overboard. I had no need of it now; he loved me, he would not let me marry the King. .

He did not come to me and he avoided me for the rest of the voyage.

Two days later, I was sixteen and one day after that, we dropped anchor in Kernow.

A great retinue met us at the quay, with a white palfrey. Waiting.

"From the King, for you."

It took almost all of the day to reach Castle D'Or and dusk had fallen as we rode up the long ramp and across the drawbridge into the courtyard.

Lackeys, holding up pitch torches, came pouring out and lined the broad flight of steps. More torches filled the great archway to the great hall with a blaze of light.

The King's Herald helped me to slide from the pony. He and Tristan were on either side and one step below me as I mounted the great steps and a tall, broad figure silhouetted against the smoke and mist, strode through the radiance of the arch.

I caught my breath, my hand at my throat.

I knew him. I have seen him in the water.

He waited at the top of the steps and held out his hand.

"Welcome to Kernow, my Lady."

.

.

.

Chapter 1 The King 

Cold and fear filled me as it had each time I scried him in the water, but I went on up and placed my hand in his.

A slight wind made the smoke and flames flicker. Nothing was quite clear except he towered above me and the shadows shuddered around us.

I had seen this before too.

In the water.

I shivered.

"Come my Lady, come out of the cold."

He led me into his Great Hall. My hand in his, we paced the length of the great hall between the people of his court to the dais where stood his throne and beside it a smaller chair.

He turned me to face his people. I am not tall, he was much taller than I. I reached only his shoulder. He was broad shouldered almost as big as Connor but lean not brawny, He wore a dark red damask velvet tunic and red braes, His furred cloak fell to the heels of his tooled boots. His hair must be shorn short for it was hidden under a wide, jewelled gold crown and its under-cap. He turned again back to me and I saw his face for the first time.

A broad forehead with heavy black brows, high cheek bones, and a long straight nose. His mouth long, and finely sculptured, was framed by a close clipped beard. I could not see his eyes for they were shadowed.

I caught my breath.

I am from Erin, a land of handsome men and I have seen many good looking men at my father's court. I had thought too that Tristan was handsome above all, but I had seen none as beautiful as his uncle the King.

He held up his hand for silence

My lord, knights, and ladies, I present to you, Iseult, princess of Ireland who has come to Kernow to be your Queen and my wife."

I saw below me Branwen, Tristan, the King's Herald, the escort of knights and my people who had come with me. Like a great moving wave down the hall, they curtsied and bowed. I tipped my head in acknowledgement.

The King turned to me "My lady, this is my sister Gwennyth, and her elder son Melor. You already know her younger son, Tristan." he gestured towards Drustan,_ Tristan_ as I must now call him.

"Tristan is my Champion and my heir." he smiled. "Until I have one with a better claim."

He smiled again.

"You must be tired my Lady. My sister will see you to your chamber and have food sent to you. Tomorrow will be time enough to acquaint you with your new home."

She led me, Branwen following, up the stairs of a tower to a round room with three window embrasures, their openings filled with oiled parchment. A fire was lit and the room was cosy with tapestries covering the walls. A chair on either side of the fire and a small table was pulled up to them. A curtained bed stood against the far wall.

"We, the King and I, thought this would be yours until the marriage and after, if you so wish, it would be your solar. That door leads to the garde-loo. The servants will bring your meal. Do you need anything else?"

I smiled no, and she left us.

"Your own garde-loo! We thought that Tara was luxurious but it still has outside privies." said Branwen.

"Everything at Castle D'Or is new, thanks to my father burning it down at regular intervals."

"He seems a good man, Essy. Time to forget."

"I have to, Branwen. Drustan rejected me at Tara. On the boat I threw myself at him and he said still, I was his uncle's bride."

There was silence between us and I went on.

"He said no but he still had me."

She gasped.

"Lord Jesu, Essy! Forget him and quick.

"It is easier to say than to do."

"You must or you will both end with a rope around your neck."

~*~.

My father's embassage met with the King in his Privy Chamber to sign the marriage agreement; I was present at the King's insistence and sat beside him at the table's head.

I already knew its contents; my father's dowry on me, the King's dowry to me; the peace agreement. One item was added at the King's command.

Should he predecease me, I should be free to stay in Kernow: to return to Erin: or to be free to go where I wished, and with the whole of my dowry.

My father's men looked at each other and licked their lips nervously; I wondered at this. Why were they nervous?

"This too, or nothing." said the King.

Again they looked at each other and slowly they agreed.

"Is there anything you wish to be added, my Lady?"

Surprised, I shook my head and the King pressed his great ring into the warn wax at the parchment's foot.

"Leave us." he said softly but they heard him and rose. He took my arm gently and lead me to the seat in the great window. He took off his crown and put it on the side table and stood beside me. His head was covered with a mass of thick tight black curls, and oh! his eyes. His eyes were huge and green, the colour of the seas crashing around the granite cliffs below Castle D'Or. The smile on his mouth danced in them.

He touched my veil and the fillet that bound it.

"I do not know what colour your hair is. May I?"

He took off the fillet, my veil and the net that held my hair

He ran his fingers through it, lifting it and let it slide through his fingers.

"The colour of the King's Gold and eyes as blue as the sapphire set in his crown."

He touched my cheek.

"Isolda." It is Kernowish for my name, he said and that is how he always called me. Till...till.

He smiled gently.

"You are not very tall."

"I am not likely to grow further. If you had wanted taller my lord, perhaps you should have looked elsewhere." My words were bold but I shook inside.

"No, I think that I have found what I was looking for,"

He bent to kiss my mouth but I turned aside, lifting my fingers to cover my lips.

"Yes my little lady, you are right. There is time enough."

"Sit you." He sat on the window seat with me.

"Is there anything you want to ask?"

I bit my lip.

"Yes." Could I dare ask?

"How old are you?"

He gave a little cough, and I realised he was laughing.

I went on in a rush, feeling young and foolish.

"I believed that you were old. I mean... You are widowed, you had a child, you have a reputation as a great warrior, you have been king now, for many years and you are Tristan's uncle. I thought you were old ...but you are not, are you?"

"I am somewhat older than you, Lady. A deal older, I think. How old are you?" He got up and went to pour us drinks from the jug on the table. He gave me a cup.

"I was sixteen, four days ago."

A small rueful smile lit his face.

"So young and seeming younger."

He sat on the edge of the table

"I have fought for my father, for Kernow, and for Arthur, since I was fourteen. I was married when I was seventeen and a father at eighteen. I lost my wife and son when I was twenty and became king at twenty one.

"I am now nine and twenty,"

I realised my mouth was open and shut it quickly.

"Is there anything else?"

"Um, um, what is this drink? It is very good."

He smiled. "Cider, they make it in the north-east of the kingdom and it is very strong."

His eyes searched my face, until they met mine and I was shaking but I was not afraid.

"How like you your mare?"

"Oh she is beautiful and gentle. I love her. I have named her Blanche."

"Will you ride with me this afternoon? I would show you Castle D'Or."

We rode out across the drawbridge and then the causeway to where a chapel stood at the edge of the fields.

It was set among ruins, covered with ivy and convolvuli

What was this?" I asked.

"It was a Roman settlement. They say that it stretched across to where the castle now stands. There was a tunnel into the castle; I found it as a boy but I would think it to have fallen through now."

We rode amongst the villages and fields meeting his people. I saw how though they treated him with respect and honour, they were not afraid of him.

Riding back as the sun began to set, I saw its rays turn the castle to sparkling creamy gold.

I gasped, "How does that happen?"

"It is the stone, it comes from Aquae Sulis near the borders of Kernow and Camelot It is plentiful and easily cut, besides being beautiful. The Romans used it first."

"It is like a faerie castle"

"It does not compare with Camelot." but his pleasure in my delight was obvious.

In the days that followed, if I saw Tristan, we neither of us spoke and he avoided my glance, but I was aware of him at the King's shoulder, like a thundercloud. I became aware too that Melor, his brother watched him with a tight face although I did not understand why.

We were to wed after the feast of Beltane. Although Kernow and its King were followers of the Christos, his people still celebrated the old feast days too, and the fires were built and torches stood on the path to the chapel.

On our wedding eve after the feast, many of our guests played for us or sang. And my Lord asked Tristan to play. H refused in a manner that was sullen. He came and sat beside me.

"Why did you that? So surly." I murmured.

"You know why." Like a spoilt child, I was surprised to think, but I went on to say,

"I love you. It is you I will think be thinking of. It will be you in me, on my wedding night."

He got up abruptly and left me, almost knocking over his chair. The King, his sister, and the other lords turned in surprise. I looked down to hide my face. When I looked up again .I saw that Melor was watching me thoughtfully.

My father, not known for his generous ways, had done me proud with my wedding gown of pink silk. It was embroidered with silver thread and crystal beads, it hung heavily on me. A hood pulled up over my head and around my face like a wimple and was held in place by a silver circlet. It glimmered and glittered with my every move.

In the torch-lit courtyard, my father's Herald lifted me onto my pony, and then he and my Irish lords lead me down over the drawbridge between the burning torches to the chapel. The King was waiting for me at the altar steps. As I reached him and he held out his hand to me, a sudden draught filled the chapel and the candles flickered and the shadows leapt and danced around his face, like a thing seen in water.

Fingers of fear crawled up my belly.

"Oh! Lady protect me," I prayed.

He smiled at me and they slid away. A great feast was set both inside the hall for the lords, knights and their ladies; and outside for the people, with music for dancing for everyone. And Tristan was there behind us, his face as black as night.

At last the ladies led me away to the King's chamber. A great fire burned there, and the many beeswax candles lighting it, showed the heavy tapestries and the bed-hangings on the great bed. They washed me again, brushed my hair, tied it back, sprinkled me with rosewater and put me in my new silk bed gown with much laughter. Branwen came to kiss me and whispered " For when the time is right. Spill it." She showed me a little vial and tucked into my hand.

"What?" I mouthed at her.

"Blood. They will look in the morning to see that you have lost your virginity."

The knights and lords of the court brought him to our bed with lewd jokes and raucous laughter. They doused the candles and as they made to draw the bed-hangings, he said quietly "Leave them." and they went.

We lay together in silence, the light from the flames of the fire dancing around the room, until at last, he said "You know, do you not, what happens in the marriage bed?"

"Yes, my lord."

Yes and I will think of my love. Oh, Tristan.

He made a little tst sound with his mouth, turned towards me and said "Not my Lord. Marke,"

I must have shaken for then he said "Do not be afraid of me, fach."

"No." I said and I knew I was not.

He kissed me gently, his mouth so soft against mine.

And again, opening mine under his. His mouth sweet and fresh from the hazel twig he had cleaned his teeth, his tongue seeking mine. He put his arms around me and held me close. He pulled open the silken tassel at the neck of my bed gown, slid his hand inside and cupped my breast.

So gently.

Taking off my bed gown and his; everything was so gentle with him. So soft were his caresses. Leading me, taking me with him till he was spent in me. Then he took me in his arms and held me close and whispered "Cariad."

And I realised that I had not thought of Tristan at all, only of the soft delight Marke had given me in loving me. I felt guilty: that somehow I had betrayed him.

"_But he had not wanted you; he gave you to Marke._" a little voices inside me said.

I awoke and I was alone in the great bed. I stretched and my hand found the vial under my pillow and remembered Branwen's words. I bit my lip then, under the bed covers, I pulled out the stopper and emptied the few drops it contained onto my bed gown where I lay on it.

I saw Marke in front of the fire looking into it, light flickering on his naked body, playing on the muscles of his back, broad and beautiful. He must have seen my movement for he turned and held out his hand to me. I wrapped the great fur bed cover around me and went to him. I looked up at him and the flames danced over his beautiful face and again I felt a shiver of dread but he bent and kissed me and it was gone.

He took the fur from me and spread it on the floor and made love to me there before the fire.

"Your breasts are as white as the winter snows and your lips as red as the roses that climb the walls of Castle D'Or. Isolda, Isolda my sweet."

In the morning the ladies of the court shook out my bed gown and held it up laughing and giggling and Branwen met my eye and nodded imperceptibly.

Fifteen days of feasting and merrymaking followed; fifteen days till my Irish Lords left for home. Fifteen days of learning to know my husband and fifteen nights in his arms which taught me more about him. Fifteen days of Tristan standing darkly away from us. Time and again, Marke would call him to us and he would move away. Marke was bemused and hurt.

"I do not understand." he would say. "Tristan and I are so close."

Tristan did indeed appear to be his much loved favourite.

And behind Tristan, always, Melor, his brother, watching, watching.

"Tristan, dance with your Queen."The King said.

I looked away and my mind jittered around saying "No... No... Yes."

But he refused.

"I am weary."

Marke's mouth tightened at his rudeness.

"Well, my Lady, will you dance with your husband?" I gave him my hand.

I remember it as if it were yesterday.

Facing each other, I curtsey and he bows and we proceed three steps forward, side by side.

Parting, three steps diagonally, face, bow again to each other.

Three steps inwards to meet, then he lifting, throws me in the air, holds me there, then lowers me and we begin again.

I remember this so clearly because it was when he held me high, I looked down into his laughing face and my heart leaped and I thought if I were not in love with Tristan, I could easily fall in love with my husband.

As we returned to the thrones, Tristan roughly grabbed my arm and pulled me back for the dance. We proceeded down, and back then down again. We reached the end of the hall and he pulled me behind the great wooden screen that hid the doorway to the kitchens. Down to the cellar. He dragged me behind one of the great cider casks.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he snarled at me.

"What?"

"Dancing with him, letting him hold your hand. Are you doing it to make me jealous?"

"Tristan."

"You said you loved me!"

"I do, I do but I am married; you ...

"You are mine, you love me."

"You said 'Honour.' Is this honour?"

"Iseult, Iseult." he was smothering my face with kisses.

"No! No, Tristan. No!"

"You said you loved me."

"I do Tristan, I do."

"I must have you. I cannot do without you."

Not for the first time, I felt young and stupid, panicking, not knowing what to do.

He turned me and pushed over the great cask was pulling up my skirts. He was in me, hard and fast. He was finished but there was no pleasure in it for me. Nor did I want it. I felt dirty and ashamed. My heart was aching.

"Tristan ..."

"Look! See this "He showed me behind the cask a gap hardly visible.

"It leads to the old hypocausts that heated the old Roman palace. You can get out of the castle to the ruins. We can meet safely there."

"Oh Goddess! Tristan, we must get back." Taking me by the hand, we went to the door and the little voice in me was saying "_**He**__ never said he loved __**me**_."

Wait." he looked first and motioned for me to come after him. We mingled into the crowd, and I saw Melor watching me.

Over the next days they were watching: Tristan and Melor until the only time I felt at ease was when I was alone with Marke in our bedchamber.

Marke and I went out among the market place, to meet his people. How at ease he was just talking with his people, at ease with me. His hand resting across my shoulder, his thumb stroking my collar bone.

"Oh look!" I exclaimed. "Isn't she sweet?" On one of the stalls was a tiny dog, blonde, shivering in the way that new babies have.

"What sort is it?" I asked.

"A greyhound, a fairy greyhound. _She_ will always be very small too." Marke smiled at me.

"You like her?"

"How much?" he said to the stall holder and tossed him a few coins. He picked the timid little thing up and put her in my arms.

"What will you call her?"

"If she is a fairy, then I shall call her Mab, after the queen of the fairies." He hugged me gently and kissed my hair. I was still smiling when I saw Tristan watching, black as night.

We moved further through the market place, I stopped to look at some pretty stones, Marke moved ahead to speak to someone and the crowd swirled between us.

I felt a sharp tug as Tristan pulled me behind a stall.

He smothered my face with kisses, squeezing me so that little Mab whimpered between us.

"Let me go."

"No. Do you think I can bear to see you with _him? _Meet me tonight." His voice was husky. "In the cellar, through the boiler room door to the tunnel. I will be waiting for you."

"No" I said, and pushed him away to go back into the crowd.I looked for Marke, and met Melor's eyes. I felt young, frightened, in a trap somehow. Marke, Marke, but how could I tell Marke this.

At dinner the day after, Tristan came to the king to ask for leave the court.

"I need to visit my lands in Breizh, my lord."

"If you must, we will miss you."

"Thank you, my lord."

And within a day he was gone.

.

Chapter 3 Isolda

.

Those first months that we were married, it seemed as though the sun always shone. It may have rained but I do not remember it so. I sat beside him in the great hall while he held court and gave judgement or punishment. I saw Marke the King, wise and fair, just and honourable.

I rode out with him across his country; saw him with his ordinary people, laughing and talking with him, how they were not afraid of him but held him in high esteem and respect. He looking to see what was needed in each little farm, repairs or help; aware when there was sickness. Making sure each little cottage had its share of seeds for the coming season.

When I asked, he said "This is what I learnt from Arthur. With great power comes great responsibility. There must be giving as well as taking."

We travelled his land; I saw **him**.

Him, Marke.

He took me out in the coracles to pull in the lobster pots; we swam together in the blue green seas around the cliffs of Castle D'Or.

He taught me, above all, how to laugh.

And I saw he loved me.

I saw it in his eyes, in every smile, felt it in every touch, every word.

I saw Branwen, my sister, my friend, bloom and glow. When I teased her, she confessed her love. Melor, Tristan's brother. I was still uneasy with him, with his seemingly constant watching. I begged her to be careful; it was then she told me they had lain together.

"I am Mammy's daughter. I, too, know her potions. And I love him."

What answer could I make to that?

"Scry for me." she said.

I refused at first, Marke followed the Christos, he would not want me to do so, but I loved Branwen, so at last I did.

At first I saw only fog and smoke in the water. As it cleared I saw fire and shadows Melor bloodied. Death.

"I see nothing." I told Branwen.

Though I tried again many times, it was what I saw each time.

I did not tell her.

The great merchant ships came; I bought grapes, figs, fresh to eat, and dried to store and lemons and Gallic wines though I found that Marke would always love the cider of his land above all.

Needles, coloured threads and linen to embroider.

I returned to the castle to my room to wash away the dust of the boats and quayside and the salt of the sea air.

I stood in the tub and my ladies sponged me fresh.

As I wrapped a towel around me, I heard his steps on the stairs to our chamber, and dismissed Branwen and my ladies.

"Isolda,"

He came in, his arms full of packages and tossed them on the chest.

"For you."

So many packages, mostly small and one big one.

"I bought lavender for you." Small sacs of dried lavender from Lengue D'oc, to scent our rooms and clothes presses.

"Plants, too "he said. "Lavender plants for you. For your garden."

Soaps scented with lavender and lemon. I held them to my nose, delighting in their perfume. A pair of gilded sandals, blue velvet slippers. An amber ring and amber earrings. I put them in my ears and they hung glowing amidst my hair.

"And this."

The big package; I sat on the bed and unwrapped it.

Silk, a mass of it, ells and ells. And colours! Blending of green, melding into blue, into violet, the colours of the seas around Kernow, seeping into a colour I had not seen before in a cloth; one that was neither blue nor green but both.

Wrap it around you" he said. "So that we may see how it will look."

He shook it out; it was so fine and light. Letting the towel fall, I wrapped it around me, across my shoulders and my arms, draping so it fell, showing the glorious shades. It looked beautiful: I looked beautiful. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. I moved my arms and it floated. Standing, moving and walking; lifting my arms to let it float. Running with tiny steps; watching how it moved with me, slowly rising and falling.

He lay on the bed, propped on his elbow, Mab curled into his belly, and watched me. In joy and delight, I danced, the silk dancing with me, swirling in a torrent of colour, my hair floating with it the amber earrings glowing against it, until breathless with laughter, I jumped on the bed beside him. I knelt over him and kissed him over and over, tiny kisses.

"Marke, Marke." Kiss after kiss. "Marke, Marke, Marke."

So happy with love for him.

I loved him.

I was in love with him.

I was heartacheingly, heartstoppingly in love with him ...and more.

More.

Mab squirmed between us. Laughing, I pushed her away."Go down, little one. You are in my place."

The silk slipped from my shoulder and I felt his eyes on it. I stopped, looking down at his beautiful face, his eyes. I did not understand the burst of feeling, high up in my throat; it was something I had not felt before. It tore down through my body and I was one continuing throb. It was then I knew, I knew desire

Still holding his eyes I knelt up and loosening the silk, I let it fall to my hips; my breasts were aching and my nipples were big and hard.

I felt a shudder go through me. I wanted him.

I cupped my breasts and held them to him.

I lay on him, my hands going up to hold his head.

"Marke?"

I kissed him, my open mouth on his and my tongue went in exploring, seeking his, tasting him. Apples. And him. His tongue found mine and they were caressing and I was hot and eager to pull off his clothes; to wriggle out of this mass of wonderful silk that enclosed me, so I would be free for him and him for me.

I wanted to go on kissing him forever and I moaned 'no' when his mouth left mine. It was to find my throat, my ear, down to my breast and I moaned again when he took my nipple into it. He turned me brushing my hair aside, kissed me underneath it, along my neck to behind my ear.

"Isolda Isolda, fy'n nghariad." His soft honeyed voice, with its Kernowish burr whispered against my throat. He kissed me down my spine and up again.

"Love me, Marke,"

"What else should I do, my love, my little one?"

He turned me again kissing my breasts, stroking to my navel further, to the mound between my thighs touching, stroking, his fingers exploring me. Giving me such joy. He kissed my breasts again. His tongue licking, lapping them, and down parting my lips there, found my little nub.

"Your beautiful rosebud."

Ah! Blessed Goddess! Ah Lady Mother! What it is to be a woman. To know such ecstasy with your man.

"Please please" I murmured over again and raised my hips to him and he drove into me again and again.

This was not the clumsy lovemaking of two children

It was not the lovemaking of a patient husband teaching his young wife.

This was the love of a man with his woman.

The love of Marke and his Isolda.

If I thought in our love, I might die from such exquisite sensations, I would have been happy to die in his arms.

For I knew I loved him as I would never love another.

" It is late. Your women will know." he said. "They will gossip. The King has bedded the Queen, afternoon into evening."

"I do not care. I do not care who King may bed me when he chooses. The King has a mighty shaft" I ran my tongue around his lips,"and I love it. All day, all night and any part of the day in between."

He laughed softly

" Duw!You are a wanton."

"For you

The corn in the fields ripened and Marke stripped off his shirt and worked in the fields with his people to harvest the crops, winnowing the corn, stacking the straw.

I kilted up my skirts and went out with the other wives with dinner baskets for their men, sitting with him to eat. I watched the play of the muscles in his back as he swung the great scythe and the colour of his skin as it darkened in the sun; laughed with him in our bed at night at the brown fading through shades of cream across his hips to the whiteness of his thighs and crotch.

They cut the hay and tossed it onto the great haywains and we, like our people, rode home on them. And if the King loved his Lady in the sweet clover scented hay, it was only what his subjects were doing.

The days slipped away, closer to Lammas and one day we came back from the orchards with the baskets of apples and found Tristan had returned.

Marke was overjoyed see to him though I was less so. I still felt warmth and affection towards him; how could I not? But I saw him also as a spoilt child against the maturity of Marke.

A child indeed, who discards his toy and only wants it again when another has it.

His black moods were those of a spoilt child who has been over indulged.

"I could not stay away. I tried but I had to come." he murmured whenever he could. "Come to me"

"No."

"I want you. "

Looking around, I saw averted glances and knew we were being noticed.

He pulled me behind the great screen and I fought silently against his kisses and his hands pulling up my skirts. I could hear the voices and noise of the court at dinner as he thrust into me. I could have cried out, maybe I should have cried out.

The guards would have come: they would have killed him.

I could not.

As he finished, I pulled away and ran into the hall, my eyes looked straight into Melor's cold ones and felt Tristan behind me.

I made up my mind, when I could, I would talk to Tristan, tell him everything must stop, that I loved Marke.

Lammas was on us and with it, Hunter's Moon.

I hated Hunter's Moon, when the knights wild with excitement and drink, rode out to hunt whatever they saw under the bright moon. I hated the bloodlust that came with it. I begged Marke not to go,

He smiled.

"It is tradition, annwyl, that the King rides with them. I will be back with the dawn."

I thought that this was the chance to speak to Tristan.

I asked Branwen to tell him to meet me in the ruins, after the hunt had left.

I slipped through the narrow gap behind the cask. Tristan was ahead of me: the torches in the tunnel already lit. I pulled my cloak tight around me and ran. A small gap brought me out behind a tumbledown ruin of a wall and I was in a moonlight glade.

He was there, sitting on a stone.

I did not approach him and he made no move.

"This must stop. No more. Marke is my husband and" I stumbled over the words. "and... I love him."

"Aye, I also."

We waited.

"I will ask the King for his consent to leave to court to go back to Breizh."

He paused, "I love you, Iseult, and I love Marke. He has always been more than my father, is more to me than my brother. An ideal to look up to. A standard to achieve, to live by. I have failed miserably; .betraying him and hurting you."

"We will say our farewells now."

We moved to each other and kissed Goodbye.

The first innocent kiss.

And we heard the snuffle of horses, the chink of their harness as they rode into the glade and surrounded us, the torchlights, and the smoke from them spiralling up and around. Marke rode slowly forward; his face blank and white.

The scrying in the water.

Him, amid the smoke and the mist and flickering shadows.

"You see, my Lord. Do you believe it now? With your own eyes?" It was Melor's voice, rich with triumph.

"The Queen and my brother."

He sat on his great bay, saying nothing, his eyes on me.

I fell to my knees.

Still he sat, till he said, so I could barely hear him.

"Take them."

He turned his horse and made to leave the glade, Melor and some of the others turned also to go with him.

"Leave me." again so softly but laying his crop across the haunches of his horse, fled from there.

"Marke." A long despairing wail left my mouth.  
"Marke."

I had lost everything

.

.

Chapter 4 Darkness

.

They put me in a cell below Marke's beautiful golden castle. They were not rough and they still spoke to me with respect. They left me with a candle; later they brought me other candles as I needed them and food and drink. I did not touch it.

I thought Tristan to be in another cell but they did not say and I did not ask.

They brought Branwen and threw her in with me. She crawled to my feet, sobbing my name.

Her face was worn and sore with weeping but she was not hurt.

Of course not.

That was not Mark's way.

It was not Marke's way to punish the innocent, so why was she with me?

It poured from her

"Essy, Essy, it was me. I told him."

I sat and listened.

"When he bedded me, he asked, I told him. About you and Tristan. I never thought. They are brothers. I never thought he would betray him. I told him about your meeting, in the ruins."

I said nothing.

I pushed her away from me and went to the door and banged on it till the guards came.

"Get her out of here. Away from me."

They took her crying and calling my name, but I did not care.

.

I did not know how long I was there; I knew it was night when he came.

I saw through the peephole in the door, the flickering light coming down the steps.

The keys jangled and clicked in the lock; the door swung open and he came in. He was alone.

He turned and put the torch he held in the holder on the wall.

He looked old and worn; his face white and strained.

A moment passed, then he grasped my arm, pulled me from the low bunk where I sat and pushed me against the wall under the torch-holder.

The smoke stirred, the flames jumped and the shadows shuddered across his face.

Dread and fear ran through me.

My scry.

The smoke, the shadows flickering over his face in the water.

He put his hand around my throat, pushing my chin upwards so that he saw my face: so that I saw his.

His eyes were narrowed glints of emerald and his mouth a taut slit of pain.

"When did it start? Tell me. I want to know. I want to know everything."

I gasped a little and shook with fear. I met his eyes; yes, I was afraid... of his justice perhaps but not of him.

"Was he good? Was he better than me? What could he do that I couldn't? "

He pushed my chin up again,

"Tell me!"

I turned my head away but he jerked it back.

"Tell me, Iseult!"

Iseult! Where was Isolda? Gone, I had killed her.

The tears brimmed and ran down my face

"When did it begin?"

"More than a year ago...in Ireland."

Stumbling I began to tell him; about the spying party, about nursing Tristan, our lying together. About Tristan winning the joust, our love on the voyage back. The tears still ran, down the side of my face over his fingers where he held me.

Still he held my face up to him.

"How many times?"

How often, after we were married, Tristan had loved me?

"I did not love him then. I did not want it..."

"Rape? Then it was rape?"His voice was hoarse with pain.

"No ...No, it was not rape. I could have called ... But ... No."

"Why did you not call the guards?"

"I was afraid ... They would have killed him."

"And I would not?" His voice was cynical. "It is the law. An unfaithful wife and her lover. It is my right."

"And then?"

Once more, and then that night, the Hunter's moon night. Nothing, nothing happened. Saying farewell

"I do not love him. I have not loved him for a long time."

I bit my lip.

"I love you, Marke."

He stared down at me. He slid his hand up to my face, moved it to the side of my head,

"I do not believe you."

Splaying his fingers he pushed me away from him so that I fell to the floor.

He left me, tearing up the stairs away from me, leaving my cell door open behind him.

I crouched on the floor, in the dirt, silently sobbing his name.

The torch guttered and went out; my candle long burnt out.

I sat in the dark.

Tremor, the captain of the guard came.

I had no idea how long it had been; neither did I care.

"Come, my lady."His voice was cool but not without respect.

I followed him up the stone stairs to a small bare room. It held a table holding a pitcher of water, a bowl, soap, a towel and a hairbrush. Branwen sat on the floor in the corner. White and wan. Thinner than ever.

"By order of the King, you are banished the Kingdom. A troop of guards will escort you by boat to Erin. To Tara, if that is your wish. Lady Branwen and your handmaidens will accompany you. You will leave the castle before sunset."

He waited.

"And Lord Tristan?" I asked dully.

"Lord Tristan is exiled. He is banished to his lands in Breizh. For life."

I hesitated.

"Sir Tremor. Of your kindness, would you give this request to the King. In his mercy would he grant that I be taken not to Erin but to the border with King Arthur's kingdom.

As for Lady Branwen and my maids, they may return to Erin, I do not wish them to accompany me."

There was a little gasp from the corner.

I had no care for it.

I had nothing that I cared for now.

They came for us as the late afternoon sun streaked the sky gold and scarlet.

"My lady, The King has agreed that we should escort you wherever you wish and that your maids may be accompanied to Erin if that is their wish or they may safely remain here. The lady Branwen, however, that is for you to decide. She may not remain at Castle D'Or."

"Then she must go to Erin."

"Essy, Essy." she came near to me. " Essy, I am carrying his baby." she whispered.

Cruelly, I turned from her; I had nothing in me to spare for her, she who had shared every day of my life with me.

In the outer courtyard, the guard waited with my little Mab, Blanche, my pony and pack horses laden with chests and boxes

And Tristan on his great horse.

We looked away from each other.

"Come, my lady we must leave." Tremor said and helped me mount.  
The King did not come.

We rode out over the drawbridge; over the great causeway, down the road past the Roman ruins.

I did not look at them.

The purple dusk darkened though the moon had not yet risen.

It was strangely quiet, but I thought it was my misery.

Tremor was tense, alert, watching.

Tristan caught up with us

"Tremor, it is strangely quiet." he murmured.

"My thoughts also."

They rode ahead a few paces, then Tremor dropped back to speak to the guard.

"My Lady." He caught up with me again."We, Lord Tristan and I, we think there may be trouble, perhaps a trap, an attack on the castle. Four of the guards will stay with you and the ladies. I am going back with Lord Tristan and the remainder of the guard. If we are wrong, we will catch up with you."

Tristan dropped back to Tremor.

"We can go through the tunnel; I will show you the entrance."

Tremor said, "Tristan, stay! If we are wrong, you know it will mean death for you."

"If we are right, the King will need every man of us."

Our guard took us off the road and hid us in a hazel copse. They muffled the horses' harness, and held their muzzles silent and we waited in the dark.

A faint whicker and a troop of horseman slipped past us, as grey as ghosts, into the glade of the ruins and disappeared as silently as they had come.

"They knew of the tunnel." I whispered.

"Who is it?"whispered Deirdre, one of the maids.

"The Irish, the Christos damn them! Oh Sorry, my Lady."

"No, soldier, you are right," I said fiercely, feeling flowing through me for the first time in days.

"The Christos damn them; and the Goddess and all the Old Ones too. God damn them to Hell."

"Melor!" Branwen whispered "Melor knew of the tunnel. He sent word to my father for my hand...he must have told..."she choked on her tears. "He is jealous of Tristan."

We waited.

Lights broke out behind us, around the castle, in the castle.

And for the first time, I heard the sound of battle. The shouts, the clash of steel on steel, the cries of the horses, and moans of the wounded. The attack went on; Hours. We had no way of knowing which way it went.

It seemed that the lower echelons had been broken through, when we heard a horse tearing down the road, a bird call. One of our guards returned it and a horse broke through into our hiding place, its rider almost falling off at my feet

"My Lady, come, The King asks you to come."

We rode back, he and I, to the castle as if the hounds of Hell were behind us.

Into smoke and noise like Hell itself.

My guide swerved down under the great bridge on till we were under the stanchions on the drawbridge.

The commander of the guards stopped us and led me to a small group.

"The Queen is here, my Lord."

Marke looked up from the ground where he was holding Tristan in his arms

I sat beside him, and we lifted Tristan onto my lap. I looked into Marke's eyes and saw the pain in them.

"My Lord, you must come." his commander called.

"He is dying."

"I think not. Not if I can help it."

Then Branwen was there beside me.

"Melor is dead. They fought side by side in the tunnel." Marke told her, she nodded and knelt beside me.

"My Lord, you are needed. The men need to see you." the officer said again.

"Go, my Lord, but if you can, send someone with my herb box."

So we fought, Marke and I.

Marke for his kingdom, and I for his beloved young nephew.

When I knew Tristan was safe and needed me no longer, I saw him put in the waiting boat and stood with Branwen to see it slip silently away into the dark.

"Go home Branwen. Go home to Mammy." She nodded. We kissed and said goodbye. Sisters and friends again.

We returned to the copse and I went on with my journey.

Crossing the two great moors till we came into Arthur's Kingdom and at last to the Abbey at Glastonbury.

I dismounted and giving Mab to one of the guards and Blanche's reins to another to take back to Kernow.

I took only what I came with to Kernow and I went in.

.

.

It was calm and quiet there for me, for reflection and reading.

Safe from the world.

News trickled through, now and then, from pilgrims and guests

It was a dark time for Britain

Arthur, old and weary, fighting his last battle, had died.

Arthur, the star that shone in a dark world.

And four queens, clothed in black took him on a black draped barge to his resting place.

That is the stuff of legends.

You may believe it for it is true.

Guinevere; his Queen, came from her convent in Brittany,

Morgause, his sister, came from Orkney.

Morgan le Fey, his other sister who once had sought to destroy him, came from the Inner Realm.

And Iseult, Queen of Kernow, came from her Glastonbury sanctuary.

To take him through the mists of the wetlands to Avalon

Legend says the four black clad Queens appeared from nowhere and disappeared the same way.

They say it was magic.

The Gift in each of us felt the throbbing in the ground and heard the whisper calling us. It called us to that place near Badon Hill; to the small hut in the sedge where Arthur lay. We came without retinue. The black gowns and veils waited for us there.

We went with him to Avalon.

To grieve for him and everything he stood for. And to lay him to his rest.

Arthur of the Britons.

If that be magic, well so be it.

Marke struggled on alone against the Irish raids but they, much weakened by their defeat at Castle D'Or began to diminish, and the tide began to turn.

.

.

Epilogue

Everything seems such a long time ago.

So long, long ago.

And yet, I am still only eighteen.

The light had changed to the mauve of dusk. And still I sat under the apple tree.

The footsteps came again on the gravel. Sister Agnes.

"My Lady, it draws late, you will be cold. I have brought your shawl."

I followed her in, through the cloisters to my chamber in the guest house. Mother Abbess was waiting for me.

"I have had a fire lit for you," she said. "I thought you might be cold."

I stood before it and warmed my hands

"I have this for you, my child."

Surprised she called me that, she did so rarely, I took the letter she held out.

I reached up to the shelf above the fireplace and took down my little knife that I kept there. The little knife that every Irish girl wears tucked in her belt in the small of her back.

I slit the wax that carried the great seal of Kernow.

There were three words inside

Will you come?

And a great slashing

M

"He is waiting, my child."

.

.

When the cold wet nights are on us, and the bards and minstrels sit at our fires, do they still sing the songs of bold knights and their brave deeds, of their fair ladies and of great loves?

Of great and good Kings, their Knights Champion and their beautiful Queens.

They tell the tale of Marke the King, of Tristan his Champion, and of Iseult the Queen.

Marke the Good, Tristan, who loved the Queen and Iseult who loved the king's Champion.

Sometimes they say Tristan died and sometimes he wandered alone

And they say that Iseult disappeared and sometimes that she too wandered alone.

But bards and minstrels tell their stories to hold their listeners. And tragic stories hold them best. So they do not always tell the truth, even if they know the truth.

This is the truth, the truth as it happened.

The story of Marke the King and of Isolda, his Queen, who loved him.

It is I, Isolda, who tells you.


End file.
